


Spoils

by Gospelofthewicked



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Arranged Marriage, Dubcon Everything, Faeries Made Them Do It, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Power Imbalance, Suicide contemplation, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 20:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15009131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gospelofthewicked/pseuds/Gospelofthewicked
Summary: The fey always took what they wanted, and he was no exception, it seemed.





	Spoils

The sky was flecked with stars on their wedding night, like droplets of glowing wax spat out by a candle. Ares sat beneath the glimmering velvet dome on the balcony, fiddling with his ring. The band was of smooth silver, set with an obsidian stone that winked at him like a black pearl in the moonlight. The fey always took what they wanted, and he was no exception, it seemed.

He wondered when Oberon would return. It was fey custom to marry at dawn and stretch out the ceremony for the rest of the day, ending it with the wedding consummation at dusk. The sun had long since sunk below the hills, yet his husband was nowhere to be seen. In some weak guise of hope, he had changed into his night clothes, a loose fitting eggshell-blue gown and slippers made from some unfamiliar fabric. Such softness seemed more cruel than kind in the face of his future.

The fall from the balcony, Ares had decided, was enough to kill him. He cast his eyes down. It would be selfish, he knew, to hurl himself into that black abyss of shadows and trees. The treaty, in all likelihood, would be made void. His people would suffer.

But he wouldn't. This was the fact that rebalanced the scales. A single hop over that silver rail and Ares was free. He was going to die anyway, why not get it out of the way now and end his life at its peak?

A cloud passed over the moon and the ring winked again. A sudden loathing seized him, towards this awful, beautiful thing. He tore it from his finger and, crushing his fist around it, hurled it over the ledge into the darkness below. His heart pulsated harshly, drumming out a rhythm to his terrified satisfaction. As Ares curled his fingers around the rail and prepared to vault over it, the great oak doors to the bedroom swung open, letting the light from the corridor surge in.

His muscles, still tensing for the jump, screamed at him to move, but he remained motionless. In a strange fancy of thought, he found himself idly wondering if the coolness of the air had seeped into his skin and frozen him.

The sound of even footsteps kissed the floor, and Ares soon found his small, dark hand in the grip of a larger, pale one. The ring was slipped back onto his finger. Ares let out small, stuttering laugh, wrenching his hand away and spinning around.

There stood his husband, the man who held ownership of his life from this day until his death. He had changed from his wedding clothes too, into a satin green robe embroidered with golden leaves. He was otherwise unchanged, his face smooth and set like chiselled marble, his eyes like two fiery emeralds, refracting any attempt Ares made to glean knowledge from those perilous orbs. His thin lips were curved into the slightest smirk. For an eternal minute, they stared each other down.

As Ares shouldered past him to make his way to the bed, Oberon's hand shot out like the mouth of some predatory animal, wrapping its jaws around his elbow. Ah. Here it was.

“Goodnight, my love.” he said, his voice rich and melodious, like wind chimes in spring.

“Goodnight.” Ares ground out, staring fixedly at the bed before him.

There was another pregnant pause. Somewhere, out in the woodland, Ares heard a distant bird-call. Oh, what he'd give to grow wings and fly.

“You are strong-willed, for a human. It is most uncommon.”

“I suppose it is.”

Suddenly, he was pulled back, and the next thing he knew was Oberon's lips pressed against his. The thick brown hairs of his trimmed beard tickled Ares' face, and he resisted the urge to laugh again. It was surprisingly chaste, a lover's kiss. This, in place of smothered screams and bloody sheets, somehow scared him more. The fey didn't know love, so what was this new game he was playing?

The instant he felt the grip loosening, Ares stumbled back, wiping his mouth. “Fuck off.” he muttered. Sure, he may be playing with fire, but wasn't it humans who had mastered it in the first place? Let him be damned if he wasn't going to go down kicking.

Oberon said nothing, but his stare whispered threats of dark things stepping over salt circles, the quiet gasp Theo had made as he died, weeping mothers over empty cribs. Ares grinned mirthlessly and pulled off his nightgown, pinching every precious second. He spread his arms wide in dry invitation.

“Happy with what you see?”

Oberon's eyes remained on his own, burning through them. He took Ares' chin in his hand, lifting his head. “Of course. My pretty, pretty Ares.” With that, he gently prised his mouth open, kissing him deeply. The feeling of Oberon's tongue against his made him want to retch, yet he found himself kissing back. He tasted of crystallised honey.

What followed was a night of sweet agony, a pain that pushed him so tightly against the walls of himself that he felt his soul mingle with the stars. If he had a voice, he'd cry out for help, yet it was already overtaken by a stranger. Animal noises spilled out of him, in that endless sea of bedsheets, drowning in a searing heat. In his mind, he saw the paths to heaven and hell entwine and bind into one, he felt his body moving and aching with the tide of Oberon's will, grazed against an answer to an unknowable question. He had not jumped from the balcony, yet still he fell. Not into shadows but tongues, not into trees, but grasping hands. Nature the carnivore. Against each touch he raged, each caress was met with gouging scratches, a frenzied sort of affection taking hold. Madness itself was not so delectable.

When he resurfaced, his lungs were choked with the cloying stench of flowers and he could taste slick blood on his gums. Sunlight streamed through the open door to the balcony in a lackadaisical fashion, painting the insides of his eyelids with hues of orange and pink. The air brushed against his bared skin, now sore and aching. As he blindly reached out for the blanket, Ares ended up patting the empty space where his husband had been. Pollen tickled his throat and he coughed.

“Ssh, my love. I find you much more agreeable when you keep quiet.”

A thumb began to stroke roughly along his cheek, tracing a circular pattern. Ares sank back into the pillow, poppy dust settling in his veins again, and let the weight of sleep press down upon him once more. The caress ended as abruptly as it had started; Ares distantly felt Oberon's fingers trail along his stomach instead, down to his pelvis. His tongue was swollen, his blood sluggish as he tried to move his arms. He needed to do something, but what?

Ares slept, and did not dream. Above him, Oberon smiled. The fey always took what they wanted, after all.


End file.
